Funeral
by Mauveskydiver55
Summary: The deserts of Tatooine are harsh and unforgiving. To live on the forgotten and dangerous Outer Rim world requires someone equally harsh and unforgiving. When an old moisture farmer turns up dead near the edge of the Jundland wastes, one man takes it upon himself to administer justice.


There was a saying amongst the gritty moisture farmers of Tatooine. Everyone got a funeral. Some were attended by loved ones at home, and others only had two mourners and the desert. Far above the shifting desert, a pair of "mourners" circled. The Sand Vultures- Rhomir to Weequays, Tali-Tali to Rodians, T'Skr'i to the tuskens, or any other messenger of death to the thousands of other species that lived on the desert world- began the arduous trek to their "funeral". The bird's tan feathered wings and bald heads stuck out sharply against the clear blue sky. "It's going to be hot today" Said Marshall Seriff as he put down the electrobinoculars he had been using to observe the avian. Taking off his black flat-brimmed hat, he pulled a small rag from his grey duster and wiped the sweat from his brow. It wasn't even nine O'clock in the morning yet, but the twin suns paid no attention to the hour, their heat as magnificent and harsh as the desert itself. Replacing his hat, Seriff again took up the electrobinoculars. The Sand Vultures had descended noticeably, and would soon disappear behind a towering dune of sand. "Ronto. I hope." Seriff said to himself. But his gut told him otherwise, and he had learned quickly to trust his gut over his mind. He again lowered the electrobinoculars, this time placing them inside a bag resting on the engine of the swoop bike that had delivered him to the outer edge of the Jundland Wastes. Mentally marking the location of the vultures, he fired up the swoop. It roared loudly as the bike's main drives took over for the stand-by repulsors and pushed the craft an extra foot or so into the air. With a practiced ease, he swung one leg over the vehicles saddle, before pushing the craft's accelerator. Dust and small stones danced out of his path as the craft roared over the dunes. Surpassing the two sand hills that stood between him and the vultures, he arrived at the edge of a craggy canyon wall. His narrow black eyes traced down into the gorge, coming to rest on the body of a man lying face down in a pool of his own blood. Redirecting his attention to the controls, he pushed the swoop along the canyon's ridge until he found a trail he could use to get down into the canyon. After a few minutes ride, he arrived a hundred paces or so away from the body. Sliding off the swoop, Seriff smoothly slid the bantha-hide things from the pair of low-hung Westar 34 blaster pistols that hung at his sides. He had no intention of becoming another more permanent mourner at the funeral. Searching the crags and canyons for signs of an ambush but finding none, he strolled over to the body. He used the pointed toe of his riding boot to turn the body onto its back. "Tob Garrick" He told the corpse. The man's grey hair had been matted by blood seeping from a blaster wound between the eyes. "But that's not what got you was it?" Seriff asked the corpse as he examined the body closer. Seriff's brain began to turn, picturing the scene of the shooting in his mind. Garrick had been riding the dewback he always mounted when checking the fringes of his property, but the beast had dumped him after the first shot. "The leg shot must've spooked old Ackbar" Seriff noted as he stared at the hole in the old farmer's leg and a trail of dewback tracks leading down the canyon. Garrick had tried to stand and run for cover, a series of mismatched footprints leading up to the body. That's when the second bolt had taken him in the chest, toppling the old man over into the sand. That had been the kill shot, there wasn't a doubt in Marshall's mind. The bolt in the head had come later. The burns around the back of the head indicated it had come from inches away. Not a mercy kill, but one intended to make sure Garrick would be unable to identify his attackers. Seriff squatted down on his haunches, taking care not to let the rarely used dewback spurs on his boots dig into his legs, and began to search Garrick's pockets. Not so much for what was there, but what wasn't. "Figures." Seriff said as he tore open the top of the man's blood soaked tunic to find a broken cord of bantha hide around his neck, the Krayt Dragon Pearl that should have rested there noticeably absent. "Make it through the whole war with the Empire as a rebel commando only to get dry-gulched for…" Seriff paused to calculate the pearl's value. "... a thousand credits." He finished, shaking his head in disgust. That had been the reason. There was no sign of the few Tusken raiders that still roamed the desert, and none of the other farmers had a beef with the crusty, albeit generous old rebel. "Offworlder." Seriff stated, beginning to formulate a profile for the killer as he stroked his well-maintained black moustache. "Gun-for-hire too. Probably on the run and in need of quick credits to get offworld." He rose into the air, making his way back toward his swoop to retrieve a blanket and give the venerable old man some modicum of respect. Carefully wrapping the Garrick's body, he took it and placed it on the back of the swoop. There were three swoop tracks, all leading in the general direction of Mos Eisley. They would soon be joined by a fourth. As he adjusted the Lawman's Star on his black vest, he pulled out his comlink.

"Coroner." The disinterested Aqualish voice answered on the other line.

"Piquil, it's Seriff." Marshall said as he swung his leg over the swoop's saddle.

"Morning Lawman. What can I do for you today?" Piquil's watery voice asked, interest beginning to leak into the bored tone.

"Tob Garrick's dead. Dry-gulched at the edge of the wastes." Seriff said as he began to prep the swoop to launch.

"I guess you'll be wanting a box then." Piquil asked, the disinterest completely gone.

"No." Seriff said as he fired up the drives. "I want four."

By the time Seriff made it Mos Eisley, the suns had climbed directly above the desert, eager to watch the spectacle soon to unfold. The speeder bike trails had been lost amongst dozens of others roughly a mile outside of the settlement, but it mattered little to Seriff. They would be in town; they weren't smart enough to run. As Seriff passed the outer limits of the city, he noticed that the normally bustling settlement had become a ghost town." Not because of the heat I'll wager." Seriff said to himself as he rounded the final corner before arriving at the street Piquil's mortuary occupied. The coroner was paid to take care of bodies, not his silence. It didn't matter much to Seriff anyways. "It'll be better if no one gets in the way." He thought silently as he surveyed the boardwalk. A rusted crimson landspeeder sat near the edge of the street, it's white-haired driver using the vehicle's hood as support instead of his severed left leg. "Talik." Seriff said, inclining his hat to the retired stormtrooper.

"Lovely day for a shooting, ain't it Lawman?" Talik said, a wild smile crossing his lips. "Just figured I'd let you know that Al Jez and his boys are over at Chalmun's Cantina with a familiar looking dragon pearl." Talik said, jerking a three-fingered hand in the direction of the famous cantina. "Wuher has had about enough of them and would like you to settle up with them quickly and preferably in a way he doesn't have to repaint the walls again."

"I'll take care of it Talik." Seriff said as he offered the man a grim look before beginning to make his way toward the cantina.

"One more thing Seriff." Talik shouted at the departing lawman. Marshall half-turned around to the cripple. "Sashia heard about what happened to Garrick. She's on her way to town now." The statement caused Seriff to pause. The Bothan's arrival could make an already bad situation worse.

"You know which way she's coming into town from?" Seriff asked, still unmoving.

"From the direction of Garrick's farm so…" Talik paused as he tapped his fingers on the land speeder and tried to recall the direction. "... east side." He finished confidently.

"Thanks Talik." Seriff said as he began a brisk walk to the eastern side of the settlement. "Be sure to get inside before the shooting starts."

"You kidding me?" Talik returned as he settled more comfortably onto the vehicle's hood. "I just wanna watch the show."

By the time Seriff had made it to the eastern wall, a swoop bike was roaring into town. Sashia was still in the tunic and poncho typical of most of Tatooine's moisture farmers, with the exception of an ornate blaster pistol holstered to her hip. Marshall had seen the pistol only one other time, the day the elegantly dressed Bothan had come wandering into Mos Eisley without a credit to her name and nowhere to go. The same day Tob Garrick had given her a job and a home. The same day the Bothan had sworn the extremely rare Bothan life debt to Garrick. She was moving with a purpose now as she dismounted the swoop. Her course angled directly toward the cantina. She must have caught Seriff out of the corner of her eye, because she adjusted her course as to avoid him. Marshall didn't let it stand though, and his brisk pace brought him alongside the cream-furred Bothan in a half-dozen strides. "Morning Sashia." Seriff said quietly, but politely.

"They're mine Seriff." Sashia hissed between her teeth, fur-rippling in rage.

"That's not how things work here." Seriff said, something between menace and placation in his voice.

"That's how they work on Bothawui." Sashia replied, matching and perhaps exceeding the menace in Marshall's tone.

"Since when did Bothawui look this ugly?" Seriff countered. "Here, I'm the law. Not you, not Jez, or whoever you think shot Garrick." The lawman moved to block Sashia's path, and Seriff briefly wondered if Sashia would try and draw on him. She didn't. Instead, she stopped and looked up at him.

"Garrick gave me a home in a really bad spot Marshall." Sashia said quietly, her gaze dropping. "I'm not going to let a couple of scumbags get away with killing him for a cheap trinket."

"They won't." Seriff assured the younger woman. "You going in there and getting yourself killed isn't what Garrick would have wanted. Do you honestly think you stand a chance against the three professionals in there?"

"Do you?" Sashia returned, fur rippling in emotion.

"It doesn't matter if I do." Seriff returned, an emotionless look coming to his eyes. "It's my job to keep the peace, so I'll do it." Seriff stepped aside, clearing the path for Sashia to go where she wanted. "You can watch if it makes you feel better. Just let me do my job." Sashia looked up at him one last time with an unreadable look on her Bothan features, before brushing past him and disappearing around a corner. There wasn't much he could do to stop her if she decided to try and administer justice herself. She would have to make her own decision, and be forced to live with it. Marshall forced the distraction from his mind. Focus on the task at hand was what he needed now. Turning on his heel, he made his way toward the cantina.

He entered the cantina to the same sights and sounds that had been roaring in the cantina for the last 40 plus years. The dull roars, grunts, chitters, and clicks of conversation. The same Biths playing quick and bouncy Jizz tunes on their instruments. And of course, the same ugly, malcontent bartender. Wuher had been serving drinks for Chalmun for seemingly ever, the short black hair he had when he had began working there thoroughly grey and beginning to turn white. Seriff had as good of a relationship as one could have with the sourly dispositioned man, largely due to Seriff hauling away drunk patrons before they could start trouble. Wuher was nervous. Seriff could tell in the way he moved busily behind the oval bar instead of his usual meandering pace that irritated off-world patrons. As he served a glass of Corellian ale to a young human, Wuher noticed Seriff enter out of the corner of his eye and relaxed visably. Seriff paused at the entryway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cantina while he casually flexed his long nimble fingers. Now ready for any situation, he allowed his eyes to pass over the room, identifying everyone inside. It was a typical assortment. A few of the local crowd, some farmers in town for supplies, a couple of drifters from off-world, and a dozen or so other beings in professions of questionable legality. Out of the corner of his eye, Marshall saw Sashia sitting in a corner booth. A bottle of Bothan wine half empty in front of her, and the pistol still tucked in its holster. Seriff took it as a sign that she wouldn't interfere.

Finally, his eyes settled on the big blonde-haired man sitting at the center of the bar. Seriff mentally flipped through the Lawmen's bible, the legendary book containing the names and faces of all the outlaws in the Outer Rim. Jez's name was a familiar one. A former bounty hunter and mercenary, Jez had reportedly been working for the Hutts as an enforcer.

"Until he cheated the wrong slug." Seriff thought to himself. "Who would Jez be running with these days? Magapo for sure, and probably the Twi'lek kid he had heard about. Fenis, or something like that." Seriff rationalized as he quickly began sorting the threats. At one point the Rodian gunslinger Magapo had been feared, but age had worked a number on the once quick and agile hands, and he could no longer be counted on in a fight. Seriff knew little about Fenis, other than the kid was a quick hand with a blaster. "He's raw though." Seriff thought as he sized up the kid sitting awkwardly at the bar beside Jez and Magapo. The real threat was Jez. The man had already killed five men, including the Lawman on Ord Cestus. The man was deadly, ruthless, and holding a krayt dragon pearl in his hand.

"Morning boys." Seriff said loudly. Only Jez turned to face him. Magapo was already on his fifth drink and his eye stalks were wavering unsteadily. The kid just looked down at his hands. "I was a little curious about where you got that dragon pearl from."

"Found it." Jez said coolly, staring at the Lawman's star on Seriff's vest with something between disgust and snide confidence.

"That's funny, because a moisture farmer who had one just like that was murdered this morning." Seriff said, his voice and gaze becoming deadly.

"You accusing me and my boys of something lawman?" Jez snapped.

"No." Seriff said, his gaze locked with Jez's. "Just stating the facts." The cantina fell silent; even the Jizz band stopped mid-tune to see the outcome of the standoff. " There's a way you can walk away from this Jez." Seriff said, his tone all ice. The gunman snorted

"Please, it's three against one." Jez said, his tone haughty. "Beside you won't be the first lawman I…" He never finished. The gunman had been expecting to draw on the lawman without warning, not the other way around. Seriff had given them their chance, and now they were going to die. Seriff's right hand Wester came up from its holster, sighting in on the shocked gunman. The surprise caused Jez to be too hasty, his blaster coming up at the same time as Seriff's, but lacking true aim. His blaster bolt went wide. Seriff's didn't. The fiery bolt struck Jez in his shoulder, half-turning the big man around. Magapo was moving, perhaps some of the drunkenness only a farce to lure the lawman into complacency. The Rodian turned and half-pulled his blaster from its holster, but Marshall's left hand Wester was there first. A pair of blasts took the Rodian in the face, rendering him unrecognizable and dropping him back to the bar. Jez tried to take advantage of the temporary distraction Magapo had provided, sliding a second pistol from his holster and firing. The bolt brushed past Seriff's ear, grazing it just enough to jerk his head out of instinct. It didn't shift his aim however, and a bolt each from Seriff's blasters tore through Jez's chest. Fenis had been so shocked by the exchange, he hadn't pulled his blaster yet, but some instinct called for him to go for it. As his hand slapped the holster, he suddenly found himself staring into the black muzzle of a Wester 34.

"You're young kid" Seriff said, his voice eerily calm. "Make the right choice so you can get old. Or don't." Seriff added, a thin smile coming across his lips. "I have enough boxes for everyone." The kid's hand slowly came away from the holster, rising above his head.

"It was Jez's idea." Fenis said, his voice shaky. "Magapo liked it too. I didn't feel right about shooting the old guy though. It was Jez that dry-gulched him though."

"Why'd you go along with it then?" Seriff asked, his blaster still unmoving.

"Poor company." The kid said, head-tails twitching nervously.

"If I were you, I'd make better decisions about who I spent my time with, at least while you're on Tatooine." Seriff said. "I wouldn't be caught wearing a blaster either." Seriff added. The kid got the message, and slowly unbuckled the holster, dropping it to the floor with a metallic clank. Moving slowly, he walked out of the cantina. Satisfied, Seriff dropped the pistols back into their holsters. Grabbing the Jez's corpse by the collar of its shirt, he pulled the body off the bar and onto the ground before taking its place at the bar. " Corellian ale." He asked Wuher. The bartender nodded and brought him the beverage. The band resumed playing their tune, the conversation resumed. Bending over, he picked up the dragon pearl from the floor where Jez had dropped it. Wiping some of the bloodstains off of it, he palmed the pearl before picking up his drink and walking over to Sashia's table.

"You let the kid walk." Sashia said, an empty expression on her face. The wine bottle was empty now, a final glass-full still on the table.

"He's young and stupid. He didn't do anything wrong and hopefully this causes him to do a gut check." Seriff replied, taking a sip from the ale. He tossed the pearl onto the table. "Garrick didn't have any family, so I think this belongs to you now. His farm does too I guess. Planning to stick around?" Seriff asked. Sashia still had the blank look on her face.

"We'll see." She replied, her voice still empty of emotion. Seriff tossed of the rest of his ale and stood up.

"Back to business I suppose." He said as he stood up and adjusted his hat. His ear was bleeding a little, but he would take care of it later. Piquil came in and began attending to the bodies of the two dead outlaws as Marshall turned to leave.

"How do you do it Marshall?" Sashia asked. Seriff stopped in his tracks.

"Do what?" The lawman asked, half-turning to face the Bothan.

"Make a judgement call like you did with the kid." Sashia clarified.

"Been to too many funerals." Marshall said as he walked toward the door. "I try and keeping from being a mourner as often as I can."


End file.
